Wilted Edelweiss
by IvyCloverJay
Summary: As Austria-Hungary slowly but steadily declines, and as the Central Powers are facing imminent defeat, Elizabeta Hedervary is reunited with a friend from long ago. A friend she loves dearly despite her turbulent relationship. A friend hated by her husband, and in 1917, a husband's word is law.
1. Chapter One

Chapter one

The newspaper crumpled in Elizabeta Hedervary's hand. Soft brown paper, now crippled, fluttered down through her shaking fingers and onto the first step. The woman sat perched on the doorstep of her husband's grand house, trying to digest the news. The Hampsburg line had been captured by the allies, and defeat seemed imminent, to her, at least. She knew that her husband, Roderich Edelstein, would think otherwise. "We can still pull through," he would state, in his flat, soft, voice. "They haven't quite defeated us."

But what did he know? He was merely a banker, although an important one, and Elizabeta had been a soldier. She knew very well that such a loss would result in defeat, and those that thought otherwise would merely lead thousands more men into an impossible battle. A lesser woman would have cried, however Eliza simply held back her tears. Crying is for little girls, she reckoned. Not for a grown woman with a family to support.

Despite this, when she reached up to touch her cheek, it was wet from tears.

The sun set slowly, its watery orange flame lighting the clouds on fire. Many writers would affiliate such an occurence with passion, however they would be misguided. There was no passion in the bleak life of Eliza.

Her husband's cautious footsteps resonated from behind her. His breathing was slow and steady, in contrast to his wife's stunted, rough one. Once upon a time, Eliza would have been delighted upon his arrival, would have ran up the steps, taken his round face in her hands, cleared away his dark hair and kissed him. However, her feet remained planted on the colld stone of the step, her back to the five-storey house. The love between them had faded long ago.

Still the man wrapped his slender arms around his lover's waist, and buried his face in her hair. She let him do this, let him twiddle her long, tough brown hair, let him call her Lizzy, let him kiss her neck after doing so. And still her green eyes remained fixed on the horizon, her hands clasped firmly in her lap, barely breathing, unmoving.

It was as if in return for Eliza's lack of love, Roderich loved her too much.

"My dear Lizzy," he murmered softly. Despite herself, Eliza felt a tingle. He was one of only two people to ever call her Lizzy. "It will be all right. We won't lose so easily." His words of comfort were so blissfully ignorant, yet still blissful. Eliza chose to believe them, if just for this moment.

Yet that moment was soon over, and a feeling of dread resumed within her. Trying to stem the flow, to quell it, Eliza fixed her eyes even more strikingly upon the Vienna skyline. Yet the sensation continued, joined by the low, rumbling sound of an approaching motor vehicle. This made her even more nervous. Why was the vehicle coning this way? Why was it coming so slowly? Barely anybody could afford a car, so the roads were clear. Why wouldn't it speed up? Soon, every part of Ekuza was on edge.

A horrible realisation dawned upon the woman as she quivered in anticipation. The rumbling seemed familiar. It was so reminiscent of a particular young man, twenty-eight years of age, with such striking eyes.. Soon Eliza was in such a state of anxiety as foreboding washed over her in waves. Couldn't Roderich sense anything? But of course he couldn't; he had never been in that car, never ridden it during the night, never-

She couldn't take it anymore. Wriggling free from her husband's iron clasp, Elizabeta ran, filled with an unexplained feeling of desperation, to the front gate. A heel snagged on the bottom step, ripping a shoe off, yet still she ran. Roderich's shouts were audible, yelling for her to come back, his leather-clad feet thudding against the grass, yet still she ran. She only stopped when a car coated in thick black paint swerved drunkenly towards the house, then stopped abruptly, inches away from Eliza.

It had been just as she dreaded.

Confusion passed over Roderich's pale face. "Isn't that Gilbert's car?" his wife didn't answer. She tried, desperately, to push down every emotion that she had hidden for the past four years, to the point where it physically hurt. "I-" she was cut off as the door swung open. A man clambered out, his eyes just as red as they were all those years ago, his hair the same shade of white. Yet something was different. His skin looked unhealthily cold, his eyes devoid of the flame that they used to possess.

Elizabeta barely had time to scream before Gilbert Beilschmidt, her friend who was supposed to be dead, toppled into her arms.

A faint word passed from his blue-tinted lips.

"Lizzy."


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

 **Note: any author's notes will be put in the reviews so as not to disrupt the flow of the story**

Roderich ran forwards, as if to help Elizabeta, only to stop in his tracks. She was strong enough, anyway, and Gilbert's weight didn't do much in the way of making her legs buckle or her back ache. She held him, as if he was a baby, in her arms. "We need to get him inside," she stated flatly to her husband, in a voice that seemed alien to her own ears. Roderich nodded, blinking away his shock, and hurried to open the front door.

Eliza carried Gilbert up the stairs. She felt strangely dizzy, although his dead weight wasn't too much for her to handle. It was more likely to be caused by the sudden appearance of somebody who was thought to be dead, lost to the guns in the heat of battle. Yet there he was, his head on Eliza's shoulder, breathing so shallowly and lying in such a lifeless manner that for a brief, horrifying moment, she thought Gilbert was dead. She entered the house with ease, and as the shock began to fade her brain was flooded with memories of times when she had had to carry her friend to safety. These were by far worse than the shock, as she remembered when Gilbert had trapped his foot in a fox's den, or when he had awakened a swarm of bees. She tried to force them out of her head, yet one, the most terrible of the memories, lingered. No matter how hard she tried, the eyes of Gilbert as he was dragged into a ditch, held at gunpoint, wouldn't expel from her mind.

Roderich went to unlock the door to the spare room. Despite his calm façade, he was clearly shocked - his hands were shaking so much that he couldn't fit the key into the lock. Finally, he succeeded, and the door swung open. Elizabeta watched this from the bottom of the stairs, as she heaved Gilbert up. As if guilty, her husband ran straight to her aid, except that he tripped on the stair rug and almost fell. Eliza sighed slightly, then swung the door of the spare room open, and switched the light on with her shoulder. She lay Gilbert on the downy white sheets, and noticed that his hair was too greasy to properly blend in with the cotton. She chided herself for noticing such a trivial thing. He still needed a bath, however, as he looked quite unpleasant.

Roderich entering the room seemed to flick a switch within Eliza - the woman was ignited with a newfound, unexplained dread that she could barely suppress. Tears spilled out of her eyes, and he rushed over to hold her tenderly. She buried her face into his shoulder, having to stoop down a little to do so, and wept, as he kissed her gently on her forehead. Eliza wiped her eyes quickly, pulling away, and then proceeded to try and find some new clothes for Gilbert. Roderich helped, bringing a nightshirt from his drawers, and some underwear. His wife sat by the bed, her head turned to the door, as he dressed the albino. She didn't quite know why; she had seen Gilbert naked many times before, but it felt like it would be intruding to look at him. She was a married woman now, after all, and she wasn't allowed to look at a man's bare flesh, besides that of her husband.

Once he was dressed, Eliza turned around. Gilbert looked cleaner, now that his dirty clothes had been replaced, even though his muscles bulged against the tight shirt - Roderich was quite a bit smaller and skinnier than him. He stood next to her, panting slightly from the overwhelming shock. "No visible injuries," he stated. "But he might have some internally, or be ill." Eliza leaned over and felt Gilbert's forehead, reeling from the heat. "He- he has a fever," she said softly. Her husband nodded. "I'll get some water. It's the least I can do."

He returned quickly, carrying water and a damp towel. She laid the towel on the man's forehead, and Roderich filled a glass from the water jug. Eliza dipped her finger in the water, then moistened Gilbert's chapped, dry lips with it, her heart sinking as she felt how hot it was. Rod leaned over. "It's ten o' clock, Lizzy," he murmered. "You should get some rest." his wife shook her head. "If I am to rest, it will be here. Something might happen to Gil at night, and I want him to be safe." He nodded. "Ok. I'll go up to bed now, anyways. Make sure he's all right." The sheer normality of his voice made Eliza's mood lighten, if only slightly. Glancing at the albino lying next to her with pursed lips, she sighed softly to herself. She brushed a lock of white hair off his eyelids. "It's going to be a very long night, my friend, with a lot of questions afterwards. Rest while you can." She didn't quite know if she was talking to Gil or herself.

The hours passed, trickling away like water through a funnel, yet Eliza's eyes didn't tire. She had grown used to sleepless nights, and besides, she doubted she could rest anyway. The pale, almost ghostly face of Gilbert stood out against the dark room in a manner that one could call ethereal, making the woman shudder. Every few minutes, she would moisten his lips again, every time flinching at the heat radiating from them. Several times she replaced the towel on his forehead with a new, wet one, and perhaps it was the repetitive pattern of these actions that finally induced drowsiness within her, and slowly but surely, Eliza's eyelids began to droop.

This was probeably why it took her a few seconds to realise that Gilbert was awake, and when she did, she started so suddenly that the man flinched, as if threatened. "L-Lizzy?" he asked, uncertainty spilling over his voice. "Shhh.." the woman lay a hand on his cheek. "Everything's going to be all right..." yet Gilbert obviously didn't think so, as his unnervingly red eyes widened. "I shouldn't- I- mein gott, why am I here?" The panic in his voice was so apparent that Eliza's heart twisted. He lurched into an upright position, yet was far too unwell to do so successfully, and the only result was that he flopped awkwardly back onto the pillow from dizziness.

Eliza placed a firm hand on his cheek to steady her friend. "You're not well. Understand?" She spoke clearly, making constant eye contact with Gilbert. He nodded slowly, yet his eyes still betrayed unease. _Can't he remember me?_ The woman stared yet deeper into the albino's eyes. "I will not hurt you, but you must not move from this bed until you're well enough to stand." He relaxed slightly, and so did Eliza, stroking his cheek gently. The man's eyes were still unnervingly wide, yet they seemed to be of a slightly warmer nature.

"Lizzy..." his raspy voice was so dry that she didn't hesitate to pass him a glass of water. The man gulped it down, placing the empty cup on the bedside table. "Now, go to sleep." Eliza instructed, patting his cheek gently. Gilbert nodded, closing his eyes, yet he suddenly clung onto his friend's sleeve. His eyelids snapped open. "Please don't say it's a dream. Please, oh, oh, mein gott... if I- if I wake up and-" the panic was rising in his voice, and she tried to steady him, an arm around his pale shoulders. "Shh... don't worry," she murmered in what she assumed was a soothing tone. He buried his head in her chest, clinging to the woman's dress like a baby, causing a damp patch across her collarbone.

"I.. I don't want you to leave me..." Gilbert''s voice was softer than Eliza had ever heard it, sending needles shooting through her heart. "I won't, it's all right," she replied, stroking his white hair, yet she didn't expect him to believe her, given his current state. Suddenly the young woman couldn't bear to leave him. "Tell you what," she pulled away. Gilbert's crimson eyes met her lime ones. "I'll sleep here tonight. That way you'll know if I disappear." Eliza regretted her words straight after they tumbled from her mouth. Why had she offered? What would Roderich think of her lying with another man? She pushed these thoughts away. It wasn't as if she was going to sleep with Gilbert, after all. But it still seemed scandalous to her nevertheless.

Eliza slid off the bed, then began to take off the outer layers of her dress. She kept on her blouse and stockings for decency, yet still she felt exposed. "Sorry, Gil, could you.." He averted his eyes as she changed into a nightdress that she found in the cupboard. A previous Gilbert may have sneaked a glance at her clotheless form, yet he didn't. The fact that Eliza cared angered her more than it should've, as if she was trying to prove something to herself.

Finally she finished changing, yet as she stood in the centre of the room, staring at the stark white sheets of the bed, a sudden self-consciousness filled her. Would Gilbert take advantage of her? How would Roderich react? Although it seemed perfectly rational to offer to comfort her friend only a few minutes ago, Eliza's stance had changed. _Don't be silly,_ she thought in a futile attempt to steady herself. _It's just for friendship._ Then suddenly, piercing red eyes fixed themselves to her. "It's ok if you don't want to," Gilbert said flatly, with ill-disguised desperation. "Sleep here, I mean."

"No." Eliza's voice echoed around the small room. "I made my decision." Her friend may have smiled slightly, yet that could've just been her imagination. She silently slipped into his bed, and he shuffled over to the side to allow her to join him. The bed was small, and their skin was touching despite their different positions. Every hair on the woman's body tensed where they touched his, and it took far too long to relax. Gilbert wrapped an arm around Eliza, his face against her chocolate-coloured hair, his breath against her scalp. "Stay with me, Lizzy..." he muttered quietly in German after making this comment, before drifting into an unsteady sleep, Eliza joining him soon afterwards.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Light filtered in through the window of the spare room, or at least it tried to. The blinds caused merely a thin, white crack to fall upon Eliza's eyelids, startling the Hungarian awake. A warm, sweaty figure besides her rolled away drowsily, and it took the woman a few, sleepy seconds to realise that it was Gilbert. Upon realising this, she felt suddenly nervous, as if she was guilty of a crime. Hastily, Eliza slipped out of the bed and changed back into the clothes she had worn the day before, one crystalline eye fixed on the albino's sleeping form. She sat down on the chair by the bed, then, as if to reassure Gilbert that she was still there, she clasped his hand.

The man's breathing was steadier now, and some colour was returning to his face- or whatever colour _could_ return to his face, as pale as it was. It made Eliza feel slightly more relaxed to see that he was recovering, however slowly. Usually she would be running a bath, yet she had forgotten in the rush of events. Remembering, the woman hurried to the bathroom for the spare room, and turned on the taps. She didn't want to turn on the radio, as it would wake Gilbert, yet Eliza felt that perhaps that was just her making an excuse for her fear of knowing the news. Ignorance is bliss, she told herself. There is no reason to be ashamed of it. Yet deep down, she was. Eliza felt that to be ignorant was to act like cattle, flies flocking to a flame.

The woman shook her head, letting thick brown locks fall over her face. No, she mustn't be thinking about things like this. She rushed back to the bed, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw the red gleam of Gilbert's eyes. He was awake. Yet he didn't make a sound as Eliza leaned over his head. There she waited for several minutes, watching for his movements. Suddenly he snapped up, like a spring, and his Eliza in the chin. "Oh!" she cried, staggering backwards a few steps. Gil looked at her, and perhaps there was amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Sleep paralysis, Lizzie. Or partially, anyway."

Eliza exhaled, nodding. "Ok. I was just... worried." She reached a hand out. "I'm running a bath. I expect you'll want to get cleaned up." Gilbert took her hand and stood shakily - enough time passed for Eliza to notice that he was awfully, awfully thin- before the man collapsed into her arms. She sat him back down on the bed, only to notice he was shuddering. Eyes locked. "Gil... are you really all right?"

Gilbert looked down at his knees. Somehow the light had dulled once again from his eyes. "Yes, I'm all right. Just... tired." Then, without warning, he stood up and stayed standing. Eliza tried to put an arm around him, but he insisted that it was fine, even though his legs were trembling from the effort. Eliza noticed all of this, yet didn't complain, and simply led Gilbert into the bathroom. "I expect Roderich would like to know about my awakening," he remarked upon arriving there. He sat down on the first surface that he found once entering the bathroom, which was a pre-18th Century antique chair, the very one which Gilbert had openly despised ever since seeing it. To sit down on something that you label as 'pretentious' and 'unnecessary' was very unusual, yet still Eliza didn't say a word. It was obvious from the strain of the muscles, from the hasty, slightly skittish nature of his actions, from the way he winced when Eliza handed him a change of clothes, how he seemed to shrink away from the water, that he was scared, in pain, or both. "Yes, I'll fetch him now," Eliza replied indifferently, and swiftly left the room.

Something, she had already concluded, was not quite right. He had no scars, no cuts, scrapes, or bullet holes, yet still he seemed pained and small in comparison to the rest of the world. It was not unusual for a soldier to suffer from shell-shock, nor was it strange for them to take months, years, or even forever to recover. But what really put the woman on edge was the way he was completely unscathed otherwise. Surely Gilbert, who had been thrown in the midst of war, would have at least a bruise? But yet again, he might, as Roderich had suggested the night before, be ill. He had had a fever after all, and perhaps, although it had subsided for now, there might be a greater underlying illness. She pushed these thoughts out of her head. It was better for Gilbert to be well, she told herself. Perhaps he was just lucky. Yet even as she stepped into her husband's room, she felt that nothing quite added up.

Roderich was still asleep, as Elizabeta had expected. She glided swiftly across the well-boarded floor, across the Alpine goatskin rug that lay by his bed, and tapped the man on the shoulder. No response. She shook him gently, and finally the Austrian's long black lashes slid apart. "Oh, good morning, Lizzy. How's Gilbert?" he sat up and put an arm around her. She gently kissed him. "Awake, although I would prefer you to bathe him." he slid off of the bed, allowing a large yawn to escape his lips, although it seemed like a song in itself with his Viennese accent. "I will, dear." Eliza stood aside to let Roderich stand up. He glanced at her absent-mindedly before leaving the room. "I think you should change as well, Lizzy. Spending twenty-four hours in the same clothes is frankly quite unhygienic." She nodded, and let him pass.

Although they were married, Eliza rarely slept in Roderich's bed. It was far easier for them to sleep separately, and besides, both thought it unseemly to be able to see each other change. She walked out of the room, her husband already out of sight (unusual for him; he always walked about twelve times slower than the average human being), and entered her bedroom, where Hella, the maid, was. She was busying herself with looking at Eliza's clothes, and her sudden entrance made the woman start abruptly. "Oh! Miss Hedervary, I am sorry for lingering around in your room, I was just-" "No need to apologise, Hella, and please just call me Eliza." The woman nodded as the other passed her elegantly, and began leafing through the closet.

"You are expecting, right, Hella?" she asked, picking out a white ruffled blouse. Hella may or may not have blushed, yet from the tone of her voice she seemed flustered. "Well yes. I-I hope you do not mind, Miss?" Eliza smiled, turning around. "Of course not. I'm not the kind of mistress to demote you or something of the sort for wanting a family. Otherwise I would have fired you a few weeks ago. Who is the father, may I ask?" Hella seemed to relax slightly. "Berwald Oxenstierna. Is-is it really all right?" Elisa nodded. "Yes, positively. I just hope that the child doesn't suffer- our house lacks childcare facilities." Eliza laughed gently, and pulled a quail-blue dress from the wardrobe.

"So what are you planning on naming it?"

Hella smiled softly. "Liam if it's a boy, Aina for a girl. Now, Miss, I was wondering if you would like these shoes?"

Breakfast was held under a somewhat subdued atmosphere. Now that the initial shock of Gilbert's arrival had worn off, it was replaced with a dull scrutiny. There were so many questions that Eliza wanted to ask, and so few answers, that it made her want to scream. Even the albino had stayed silent, which did nothing to improve the mood. Finally, Eliza couldn't bare it. She asked, with a fearful desperation, "So, Gil, how are you still alive?"

Immediately after uttering the wretched words, Eliza regretted it. Gilbert's eyes seemed to focus upon his bread, as if it was a long-lost lover. Roderich started whistling to try and soften the mood, only to stop and just stare at the tablecloth. It seemed like hours passed before Eliza broke the silence. "I-I'm sorr-" "It's fine." Gilbert broke in with surprising firmness. "To be honest, I don't know myself." Yet somehow his hand was shaking. Eliza said nothing more. And so the rest of the meal passed in silence, with no sound except that of the birds whistling or a far-off gunshot.

"Is the maid still here?"

Gilbert asked the question plainly, as he sat in the garden with Eliza. Roderich had stated that it would be beneficial for him to get some fresh air, and since he had to attend a meeting with several other officials, Eliza had to stay with Gilbert.

"Who..?"

"Tinahella Väinämöinen? You know, the wife of that Swedish bureaucrat?"

"I know who she is, Gil. I was just wondering if you were thinking of the same one."

Gilbert paused for a moment. "Lizzy, I'm pretty sure I'm capable of remembering the maid. I mean, my mind's not that messed up, is it?" He said it as a joke, although it was half-hearted. Eliza pretended not to notice.

"Lizzy?"

"What?"

"Aren't the cornflowers pretty?"

Roderich had had the little blue flowers planted so long ago that Eliza had stopped noticing them.

"Yes they are pretty."

"You know," Gilbert walked towards them. "I always expected Roderich to have ripped them up by now. Especially after... you know..."

Eliza nodded. She didn't mention that her husband had, in fact, mentioned many times that the cornflowers ought to be removed. She didn't mention that every time she had refused, insisting that they went well with the garden, that they showed wealth and nobility. She didn't mention that both wanted a seperate fate for the cornflowers for the same reason. They reminded the two too much of Gilbert.


End file.
